


To Die as Lovers May

by arcanae



Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blood Drinking, Carmilla AU, F/F, Gothic, Human Bella, Lesbian Vampires, Mutual Pining, Vampire Alice, Vampire Hunter James, Vampire Hunters, Vampires, more characters to be added as i update :]
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanae/pseuds/arcanae
Summary: "She arrived as the clock’s smaller hand ticked over into midnight; breaking the customary silence throughout the Swan property which had, thus far on this night, only been occupied by crickets—who sang between the dry blades of grass upon the lawn to herald the impending advent of sweet spring and her forgiving sunlight—with a desperate pounding of her weakened fist against the wooden door."Mary Alice Brandon falls upon the doorstep of the Swan household, and Bella's life is utterly and irrevocably altered. // Inspired by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu's 'Carmilla' (1872).
Relationships: Alice Cullen/Bella Swan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	To Die as Lovers May

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of this piece was originally written for the Twilight MTHG Mini-Zine on Tumblr. I encourage anyone who has clicked on this fic to make a donation to the Quileute Nation via their MTHG website, and seek to educate themselves on the detrimental impact that the Twilight saga had upon their lives. 
> 
> This is currently an unfinished WIP, so I'm not sure when I'll be updating - but I'll do my best to avoid making the wait time too long. Thank you for stopping by!

_To die as lovers may—to die together, so that they may live together.  
_ — Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

She arrived as the clock’s smaller hand ticked over into midnight; breaking the customary silence throughout the Swan property which had, thus far on this night, only been occupied by crickets—who sang between the dry blades of grass upon the lawn to herald the impending advent of sweet spring and her forgiving sunlight—with a desperate pounding of her weakened fist against the wooden door. Isabella was the first to wake, and then Charles Swan, who instructed his daughter to stay well away from the lamplit foyer as he crept towards the source of the intrusion with an old hunting rifle in hand. 

His daughter’s stubborn curiosity was destined to become the least of Charlie’s worries; though this would ultimately offer him very little solace, particularly once Mary Alice Brandon (or simply ‘Alice’, as they would come to know and love her, for a time) toppled over the threshold and collapsed into his arms now that her way into the house had become unbarred. 

“Are you alright, miss?” He asked, though the young lady could only manage a quiet murmur before allowing her eyes to flutter shut with all the delicacy of a butterfly’s wings. When Isabella approached for the second time (as she had grown up several miles away from the nearest inhabited village, she fancied the presence of a girl her own age to be as quietly exhilarating as a more sociable woman would perhaps find a foreign country), Charlie did not protest—though she could not quite suppress the irritable twang of impatience that played a petulant melody upon her heartstrings as he swept the girl into his arms, effectively hiding her face from all but himself. _Later_ , Isabella conceded as she committed each lock of their visitor’s short, dark hair to memory—though she would never dare verbalise such a blatant acceptance of defeat in front of her father. _Once she is comfortable._

By now, the entire manor was awake; though Charlie easily maintained his authority over each occupant of the household, sending a kitchen boy to fetch the physician as Isabella scurried upstairs to ensure that a bedroom was being prepared for their visitor. She was ushered back the way she came soon enough—“she needs rest,” Charlie reminded his daughter once he had carried the stranger upstairs and lowered her onto the opulently decorated bedding—but Bella, _stubborn_ Bella, did not stray far from the closed door. 

The physician, for all the kitchen boy’s speed, did not arrive at the Swan manor until almost one o’clock; once Bella had paced deep lines into the carpet runner in the upstairs hallway. Once inside, Dr. Cullen passed her with a smile—dark smatterings of purple shadowing his under-eyes—and Bella, in turn, made a valiant attempt to replace her restless anticipation with an appropriate degree of concern. 

As it happened, she would soon find herself in need of it. 

“She’s asleep,” Dr. Cullen informed them upon emerging from the guest room with a quiet click of the door behind him and ushering both father and daughter downstairs into the communal space of the drawing room. He transferred a bi-aural stethoscope from around his neck to the confines of his Gladstone bag, and closed the metal upper frame with a swift ‘snap’ before continuing on. “I’m afraid her health is rather delicate. Her temperature is dangerously low, and her heartbeat...”

Upon catching sight of Bella’s expression, however, the doctor did not elaborate any further.

“Is there nothing to be done?” Bella pressed, at the same time that Charlie asked, “how long, doctor?”

“ _What_? Father—” 

But Bella’s protests were silenced by a meaningful look from her pragmatic father. Their guest, on the other hand, appeared to remain marginally willing to entertain Bella’s prospects of hope.

“The comfort of a bed and three hot meals a day have worked wonders upon several of my patients in the past,” said Carlisle at last, “but I cannot promise you any miracles—not when we know so little about her prior circumstances.” While his efforts to cut through the shroud of disquiet were not precisely unappreciated, the sentiment ultimately provided little comfort to both Bella and Charlie, who had—until now—thought it safe to associate the physician with his typically heartening bedside manners. 

After the physician departed—with an empathetic assurance that he would make a second house call to check on their guest’s health once the dawn had broken—the household’s occupants gradually returned from whence they came, until only Charlie and Bella’s footfalls (which came quietly, even upon the surface of the wooden floorboards) remained at risk of disturbing the relative sense of peace within the four walls of their home.

The servants, however, had little to fear: fatigue—and an unspeakably thrilling sense of curiosity, on Bella’s part—ultimately lured the pair away from the drawing room and the domestic quarters on the first floor. Charlie’s re-examination of the young lady was little more than a momentary glance beyond the door, which he left ajar upon his departure; but Bella lingered even after Charlie squeezed her arm and murmured a quiet _goodnight_ , relishing each step that brought her closer to the visitor. The closer she went, the smaller the stranger seemed.

It was when Bella found herself standing close enough to reach out and touch the girl—not that she would, of course, her father had not raised a _complete_ beast—that she finally faltered in her advance (it was terribly typical of her, to have focused so heavily on the endless possibilities of the action itself that she had failed to consider her next movements in the event of success). She was situated in what could perhaps be considered the most luxurious guest room within the estate, with plush carpeting adorning the floors and a tapestry opposite the foot of the bed, depicting the asps’ consumption of the willing Cleopatra—but Bella had eyes only for the slender figure who lay beneath the sheets, back turned towards the doorway.

That is, until a quiet murmur slipped from between the girl’s parted lips, heralding a fit of restlessness that sent her rolling over and exposing her face to Bella from behind the makeshift mask of her pillow.

Oh. 

Where Bella had once only been able to see the way in which her visitor’s dark hair curled around the arch of her dainty ear, she suddenly found herself gazing upon a pair of impossibly long lashes, set in stark contrast against the girl’s pale skin. Somewhere beneath her eyes (which were restless, darting from side to side beneath her lids) came a set of bloodless lips, and Bella forced herself to look away when the girl’s front teeth sank delicately into the plush skin, nose twitching and knuckles bleaching as she gripped onto the bedcovers. Was she dreaming? What did she dream of, Bella wondered?

She seemed fragile— _too_ fragile—and Bella could not quite shake the inexplicable urge to curve her body around the girl and ward away any demon of the dark who dared to approach her before the dawn broke. 

Oh, but she was _beautiful_.


End file.
